Tempus Continuum
by peacewithemptytowns
Summary: The final battle has taken a turn for the worse. Hermione goes back to try and fix things. "She looked up into his clear blue eyes, and that dead piece of her soul became just a little bit less." Not your average time turner fic, promise!
1. Chapter 1

Sweat peppered her forehead, drawing clean trails down her mud-streaked visage as it dripped. The girl ran with heavy steps, breathing hard and fast as she sprinted up stair after stair, bounding blindly around corners and shooting past the other people in the hall, ignoring the sparks and shouts of duels. She finally stopped when she saw he had stopped as well.

He had paused along the side of the corridor, leaning against the wall, panting with his hands on his knees. His dirty hair hung in clumps around his face, but Hermione could still see his haunted eyes as he turned towards her. He looked as though contemplating flight or fight. Heaving a breath, he got to his feet and faced her in the middle of the corridor. His eyes gleamed in the flickering light from the torches, and he pulled out his wand menacingly. Hermione saw his lips barely move and his want twitch ever so slightly. Immediately she yelled, "Protego!" Feeling the curse bounce away from her shield, she began advancing slowly down the hall, holding the man's gaze. He walked forward as well, and attempted another hex, only to be countered by Hermione. Each curse was flicked away by the defender's nonverbal shield charms.

She felt an odd calm, as if the two were long-time associates casually meeting up. With each spell, their voices became quieter and quieter until both were only whispering. Their body language gave them away; fighting stances and strained muscles made the tension obvious. The anger was palpable between the two. As they got closer to one another, their duel became more and more intense, the speed of the curses flying around increasing and adding eerie colored sparks to the firelight in the poorly lit hallway.

"Expelliarmus."

"Confundus."

"Petrificus totalus."

"Immobulus."

"Impedimenta."

"Locomotor mortis."

Upping the stakes in a sudden crescendo after his adversary's childish spell, he yelled, "Crucio."

"Protego!" Her desperation gave the spell strength, and the protective shield lingered even after the man's curse had been deflected. In those few moments she strode towards him. He put up his own shield but she simply walked through it, shoving his thin frame back against the wall and keeping him there with her elbow at his neck. His wand had clattered to the stone floor as he hit the wall.

"You depraved bastard," she spat, eyes dancing venomously in the blaze of the torches. "Do you know what you did to him? His life was destroyed the day you met. He was never truly happy again, condemning himself to an existence alone, just to keep people safe. He hated ever fiber of his own being, and no matter how polite, or charming, gentlemanly, honorable or brave he was, he was never good enough to be loved. He didn't let anyone anywhere near him," tears sprung to her eyes, "and he was miserable because of it." Pain was etched over her every feature, but anger overtook her as the man under her arm gasped for air. "You don't deserve the breaths you take." And with that, she took her wand and slit his throat.


	2. Chapter 2

She raced back down the flights of stairs she had only a few minutes previously flew up, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She barely registered her hands, slick with blood, or the part of her soul that had withered with his life. Her only thoughts were on whomever she could help. Somewhere in the back of her mind it registered how odd it was that she didn't see a single soul on any of the six floors she just ran past. Skidding to a stop in front of the open doors of the Great Hall, the sight within made her stomach clench, and explained the absence of battles in the halls of the castle.

Everyone was there, gathered in groups around the cots splayed haphazardly around rubble and destroyed tables. Some were sitting with tears streaming down their faces, some were staring straight ahead at a world only they could see, but it was the wails and moans that stuck daggers in Hermione's heart. Tears leaked from her eyes as she looked around and saw familiar face after familiar face, pale and lifeless, Order member and student alike. Colin Creevey. Katie Bell. Professor Flitwick. Charlie Weasley. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Dean Thomas. Professor McGonagall. Luna Lovegood. Molly Weasley. Tonks. Remus. Neville. Fred. Ginny. Ron. _Harry._

Hermione did the only thing she could conceive of doing. She ran.

Her hair stuck to her wet cheeks, but the unforgiving wind would angrily blow it back. Rain pelted her skin, but she didn't care. Nothing in the world would ever be right again.

The lake looked cold and distant, in sharp contrast to all of Hermione's memories of the place. Lunch in the shade of the trees, swims in the clear water, she could reconcile none of it with the ghostly shadow of a once-beautiful place. Reaching the lake's edge, she threw herself down on and sobbed. Everything was all so wrong; even the grass itched her cheek as she wept.

_It wasn't supposed to turn out this way. Harry was always going to defeat Voldemort and create a better world. None of them were supposed to die._

Cries wracked through her as she lay on the ground. Her heart felt small and constricted and she thought she would never take a full breath again. Tears streamed from her eyes, which were screwed shut. Her mind whirled through the faces of the people she loved. She watched them as they laughed, beautiful and happy and carefree in her memories. She saw McGonagall's tight lipped smile as she reveled in Fred and George's antics; Mrs. Weasley's bubbling laughter at the dinner table; Remus shaking his head as he chuckled mirthfully and his eyes sparkled with joy; Ginny's hair gleaming in the sunlight as she threw her head back with delight; Harry's unguarded smile as they joked around in the common room. They would never laugh again. They couldn't.

_Why wasn't I there? I could have helped; I could have stopped it. Oh, if only things could go back, if only I could somehow change this damn outcome._

Her eyes shot open. The sideways world mocked her, reminding her of the pathetic existence she would have, now that everyone she loved was dead.

The gears in her mind whirred. Calculating pros and cons, sacrifices and risks of what she was about to do.

_Things couldn't get much worse than this_, she decided. Sitting up, she reached under her soaked jumper and pulled out a golden hourglass on the chain around her neck. Slowly, she wiped away her tears, hiccupping. She couldn't help remembering back to Dumbledore's words in third year. _Terrible things happen to people who meddle with time._Shaking the thought from her head, she set her jaw and spun the hourglass back as far as it would go.


	3. Chapter 3

When she felt the spinning stop, she cautiously opened one eye. When what she saw didn't scare her, she opened the other eye and peered around at the scene before her. It was a nice day, warm, and she was still sitting underneath the leafy tree by the lake. She turned and saw the castle behind her, and suddenly the day's events caught up to her. She choked, but before the tears could fall she saw herself. Literally, she was looking at the back of Hermione Granger's head. Her jaw dropped as she took in just how close she was to her other self. Hermione, the other Hermione, was sitting no more than ten feet away from herself, nose buried in a book, facing away. The older Hermione scrambled quickly to her feet as she silently berated herself for not remembering how she'd spent almost every free period she had in the past few weeks studying in the sunlight. Things had calmed down since she, Harry and Ron had found and destroyed the last of the Horcruxes. Voldemort had gone into hiding once he found out, and the Wizarding World breathed for the first time in years. The student members of the Order were summoned to return for schooling, and Hermione was no exception. All was well for about seven months – until the day Voldemort's followers assaulted Hogwarts in a surprise attack, destroying the opposition caught off guard and killing most of Hermione's love ones.

To avoid seeing her past self, Hermione scrambled to the closest hiding spot she could find: behind the tree. She watched herself read the words of one page, but reach something she didn't understand and frown, her hand coming up to her mouth. She chewed the skin around her nails in frustration. It was a habit she'd picked up and couldn't drop, but as Hermione watched herself, she was appalled to see just how unsightly it was. Harry and Ron had always—_Harry and Ron._ Tears flooded her eyes and her knees seemed to give out. As she dropped to the ground, she cracked some twigs and the other Hermione whipped her head around when she heard the noise. The older Hermione held her breath, cursing her own damn curiosity. She heard a book close and a ruffling of papers, when someone said, "Hey, Hermione. What is it?" The voice made her blood run cold. That was a voice she had thought she'd never hear again. She assumed Harry had walked up to greet her other self after she'd ran behind the tree.

The other Hermione responded, "Nothing, it's… I- I thought I just saw…"

Hermione almost giggled despite herself. _Talk about déjà vu._The memory of her's and Harry's adventure third year brought with it more pain and silent tears.

"Nevermind, Harry. Let's get to dinner." More papers ruslted, and soon the pair's footsteps padded a safe distance away from the lake.

Hermione sighed and dropped her head into her hands. _Why on earth did I think this was a good idea?_


	4. Chapter 4

After a quick Disillusionment charm, Hermione had gotten up and followed Harry and her counterpart towards the Great Hall.

"So how're your N.E.W.T.'s coming, Hermione?" Harry turned to look at her with a small, knowing smile. He had always been able to read her like an open book; Harry had been her confidante many times over the years. Hermione felt her heart ache as she realized Harry would never be able to complain to her again about homework or Ginny playing hard to get or how sore his feet were. Her eyes pricked for what felt like the millionth time in the span of a few short hours. She supposed she looked a wreck, and was relieved when she remembered no one could see. She'd encountered enough embarrassment.

Hermione jumped at the chance to detail her study schedule. "Well, all my notes are color co-ordinated within each subject, and I'm already half way through purple. After that, I've got yellow, magenta, and green, and then I think I'll be ready to start re-reading the texts. I can't start those until we're a bit closer to the actual exams…" Disillusioned Hermione let them wander off, as her attention was caught by a bulletin being posted by a short witch. Hermione quickly ran to the board once the witch left, her eyes searching for a date. _April 17, 1998. Almost two weeks before the battle._All she had to do was warn the Order about the impending attack, and make sure they were ready and waiting for the Death Eaters when they arrived. _Easy._

"Hey! Hermione!" She froze, eyes wide as she tried to think of a reason, any reason she could give Ron to explain seeing her out here and then seeing her double, suddenly inside the Great Hall. It was only when he took off at a run away from her did she remember he couldn't see her. _Brightest witch of your age, my arse._ She followed Ron a short distance till he met up with Harry and the other Hermione, on their way back to the common room after a short meal. Seeing herself with her best friends in the whole world again, joking and laughing like they had done practically every day since first year, made Hermione go a little dizzy, and her vision blacked around the edges. She put up a hand to the wall to steady her sorrow as she continued watching.

"Harry," Ron complained. "How is it you always get the best flavors, and I always end up with earwax?" He threw the first bean he grabbed from the purple velvet pouch into his mouth and chewed, his nose scrunching up in disgust as he realized the unfortunate flavor it was.

Harry laughed, his hair fluttering even with the small movement. "Ron, you've got to be more selective with what you put in your mouth."

Hermione watched herself giggle. "Yeah, who knows what you've resorted to eating now that the house-elves stopped making your favorite stew."

Ron's face fell suddenly. "My lovely beef stew…why couldn't they have cut the Brussels sprouts from the menu instead?" He groaned.

"You can't eat only meat, Ronald. Vegetables are a fantastic source of nutrition, without the excess amounts of fat meats have," said Hermione.

"Yeah, but Brussels sprouts taste like dung," Ron stated.

Their lively conversation continued toward Gryffindor tower, but all Disillusioned Hermione could see was Ron's blood pooling around his pale skin and Harry's eyes behind cracked glass, wide open and scared and dead. She took a quick breath, then choked. Her eyes prickled, but no waterworks came. _Finally, tears have run out._She struggled to breathe. Her heart felt like it had been sawed in two, a bloody mess inside her chest. A wave of nausea hit Hermione when she saw Neville and Luna come around the corner, remembering his clandestine feelings for the peculiar witch, and realized she would never know just how much he cared for her. Hermione took off, invisible, before they could witness her coming apart, even if only through the pained noises she made. Her feet pounded along the familiar corridors, taking her on a well-worn path subconsciously. Moments later, she found herself curled tight in a ball next to a door on the sixth floor. She had come here many times before, seeking comfort from Ron's careless jibes that cut deep and Harry's insensitivity. Boys as best friends did have its drawbacks. But as he sat, hugging her folded legs to her chest, bawling into her stocking-covered knees, she knew she would give anything for Ron to insult her bookish habits one more time, or for Harry to brush off her problems again.

Her cries and moans were loud, but she knew she was far enough away from any commonly used pathway not to care. However, in her grief, she had forgotten there was one person who could hear her, quite well in fact.

The door opened silently inwards, and a head covered in untidy sandy brown hair stuck out around the wooden frame to investigate the tortured noises coming from outside. Sharp blue eyes found the source of the crying: the light shimmer of a Disillusioned person. The man quickly stepped out of his chambers, clad in dark sweats and a soft t-shirt, and dropped to his knees in front of the invisible blubbering girl, as he figured from the high pitched sobs. Slowly, the man reached a comforting hand out, and it found the back of her head. The soft and grimy curls, surprised him; it was a bit disconcerting to feel something when his eyes saw nothing.

He sat back against the wall next to her, wrapping one of his arms around what he thought was her shoulders, the other curling around to pat her head and those smooth ringlets he found himself rather fond of.

"Shh…don't cry, now. It's alright, love," he murmured, dipping his head closer to where he imagined her ear would be. His legs were bent and his figure was wrapped protectively around her shaking frame, expelling his body heat and engulfing her in warmth that spread to the tips of her toes. Hermione's sobs slowly morphed into whimpers, and she snuggled into the arms of the man around her. Her cheek touched his chest, and she sighed. Still sniffling, she slowly snaked her arms around his muscled torso, pulling him and his warmth closer.

He felt her arms encircling his body, and he gently lifted her and pulled her between his legs. She curled sideways into his embrace, her invisible head tucked neatly under his chin. He rested his cheek upon her hair, breathing in her scent, and, he realized with a start, blood. Rationally, he decided she would have ample chance to explain once calm, and ignored the frightening metallic scent for the moment. Though confused at the bizarre situation he found himself in and anxious for this girl, he reveled in her soft locks against his cheek and the faint raspberry shampoo that lingered around her. _Raspberry… smells familiar._ She held him close, feeling safe for the first time that day.


	5. Chapter 5

"Remus!" He felt her pull back sharply in surprise after glancing up to his face, then relax once the initial shock had subsided.

"Hermione?" He recognized her voice in a heartbeat. Speaking to the air in his arms, he said to her, "Are you alright, love?"

She sniffled. "Remus, we have a lot to discuss."

Looking up into her professor's eyes, Hermione felt her heart break. The last time she had seen Remus was on the floor of the Great Hall after the attack. His eyes laid open, frozen in a look of terror. Gashes criss-crossed his torso, and the blood was still warm, seeping into his clothing. The previous time she had seen him was not an hour before that. Remus had just finished

After a quick _scourgify _to rid herself of her tears, Hermione had returned herself to visibility and now sat under Remus' gaze, nervously patting her clothes. She watched as he studied her, imagining the multitude of questions and observations swirling in his mind as they surfaced. A small frown puckered his lips and furrowed his eyebrows, something Hermione was acutely aware of. She knew she was the reason for his inconvenience, and the realization left her feeling unsettled.

When she recognized him, he had quickly brought her into his chambers, the door of which she had flung herself to the bottom in her moment of weakness. The door was shut firmly, she had made sure, and the room silenced to any passersby. It was only then that she had relayed her story, her whole story, to him. Remus had listened intently, nodding in all the right places and without comment. His frown had deepened as her story progressed. She sat on the edge of his coffee table, stiff and still an emotional wreck, but not uncomfortable, while her audience examined her at a distance of ten feet, from the chair to his desk.

It was not an unusual setting for the two; the past few months had brought them closer than ever, as each felt the strain of the war on their relationships with others. Somehow, the stress melted away when they were together. Remus and Hermione chatted endlessly on weekends and sometimes school nights about newly discovered books or discussed any number of controversies as an escape from Harry and Ron, or Order members and Tonks. Hermione could stand her two best friends for a couple hours at the most, and the library had lost its charm after seven years of hiding out. Remus sought solace from constant calling from the Order, ever cautious, inquiring to every last detail of the school from their Hogwarts contact, and the shape-shifter, who obviously held romantic feelings for him. The normally pink-haired witch entertained him, but had never truly intrigued him. He agreed to meet her occasionally for a romp in the sheets, but to Remus, it was never anything more.

The relationship between Remus and Hermione was never more than platonic, though much more than merely student and teacher. They confided in each other, like only two people who had experienced tragedy together could. Years of fighting with the Order had established their connection, and their frequent conversations had strengthened it tenfold. Remus was quick to draw the line at "friends", severely aware of his affliction, their age difference, and his professional occupation. Hermione, on the other hand, had often let her imagination wander; a handsome, older man with whom she finally had an intellectual equal? She had left their first conversation with butterflies in her stomach and stars in her eyes. But she shut out any such feelings after one night when she went to visit him. Just as she was about to knock, she heard a woman shrieking from within his chambers. The sound was muffled by the wood, but there was no mistaking the pleasure in her voice and the name rolling off her tongue. Very male grunts accompanied the screams, and Hermione turned straight around and skittered back to the common room, hot tears irrationally leaking from her eyes. From then on, she had convinced herself the quick flutter in her chest was because the caffeine in the tea they drank.

"Hermione…" He exhaled as his hand slipped over his forehead, pushing back the hair from his eyes. The movement made the ends stick up above his head in odd directions, something Hermione would have giggled at, had she been in a giggly mood.

Remus didn't know what to think. Should he alert the Order? If what Hermione was saying was true, that would be the only option. But going around, changing history would be playing with fire. And what of the theories that say time is a continuous loop? Nothing can be done that hasn't already happened. Recalling back to his previous year teaching at Hogwarts, not four years ago, everything time-travelled Hermione did had already happened before she went back in time. The pebbles she threw at Harry in Hagrid's hut, the call she had made to distract Remus… Just remembering her howl sent shivers down his spine and ignited something deep within him; the werewolf's primal urge to mate stirred. His eyes hooded, and his breathing shallowed as he watched the source of that mesmerizing call.

"Remus? What do you think we should do?" Her human voice brought him back to the present, and his evolved mind.

"I must consult some texts before we go around alerting the cavalry… how long did you say we have?"

"A little more than two weeks."

"Very well. That should be long enough. First things first, if anyone sees two of you, well, you know the dangers of time travel. No one can know you are here. You cannot leave this room." As the words left his mouth, Remus' stomach flitted. _What, back in high school, are we, Remus? She is a girl, a child._ The thought crossed his mind, and yet he knew it to be false. The war had matured her beyond her years; her eyes had seen death, her soul knew agony. Her brain had always been older than she, as well, and her body… Suffice to say, Remus knew Hermione was no child.

"Of course not, Remus. The house elves can bring me food, and some transfiguration should work for most else."

He nodded. Then, curious, he asked, "Say, how old are you, Hermione?"

"Eighteen in a week." The thought brought a small smile to her weary eyes, though Remus watched as no doubt memories of the recent celebrations played across her mind. He watched the light drain from her eyes as she watched her dead friends bring her cake through the doors of the Great Hall, and the smile fade from her lips as she saw them laughing, delighted as she blew out all eighteen candles. Hermione recognized a numbness to the sorrow as her eyes slowly refocused, and fatigue began to set in.

As if knowing by magic, Remus said, "You must be exhausted. Come lie down for a while." He led her through the sitting room into his bedroom. She barely registered the new setting, even though she had never been there before and in a different scenario, the room would have shot adrenaline through her veins. But she had just enough energy left to unbutton her shirt and kick off her shoes before she collapsed into Remus' arms. He caught her easily, and set her under the covers in his bed. Slowly, he removed her socks and blouse, leaving her in a tshirt and skirt. He tucked her in, chuckling sadly as she curled herself up in his pillows, asleep. A hand reached out to smooth the curls of hair from her sleeping visage. Sighing, he imagined the grief the girl beneath his touch had experienced in the past 24 hours. He took a seat at the edge of the bed, one hand resting on her lower legs. He contented himself with watching her lips close and part with her breath.


End file.
